


Night Moves

by Blackarrow_bagels1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s11e04 Baby, M/M, The Power Of Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 06:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackarrow_bagels1/pseuds/Blackarrow_bagels1
Summary: "“Dean, I want to heal you.”“I said no, Cas. Save your strength. Don’t waste it on me,” he refused. It wasn’t the first time Dean said it, but now that Cas knew why Dean insisted on staying hurt, he wouldn’t leave it alone."Sam and Dean come back from their hunt. Cas is still healing, and now insists on healing his friends.
Relationships: CasDean, Castiel/Dean Winchester, DeanCas, Destiel
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Night Moves

**Author's Note:**

> HOO boy I watched Baby this morning and then wrote all of this. I only read over it once before posting, so tell me if there's any issues :)
> 
> also please comment they feed my soul

They got back late. The sun had set hours ago, local radio stations were babbling out music they knew no one wanted to hear, and Dean was slowly drifting off in Baby’s passenger seat. Sam kept his foot on the gas, eager to get home. Their latest hunt, which started on a lead so thin they were confident it’d be nothing, had nearly gotten both of them killed several times over. When Dean woke up he’d want to fix Baby. Sam intended to make his brother keep his promise and let Cas heal them both. A small part of him did feel bad about leaving the angel home alone, but a larger part justified it. Rowena’s attack dog spell had been lifted about a month ago, but Cas was still feeling the repercussions. Sometimes the guy even slept, which would be worrying if it wasn’t cute. 

Dean woke up when Baby parked, her engine sputtering a few times before finally resting. Sam’s thumb rubbed against the steering wheel a few times, thanking her for not breaking down on the way back. It was a little touch and go for a while. Dean explained he had to crash her to take down the pack alpha. His voice was pained, clearly guilty about hurting their only home again. They both knew Dean would fix her up. It was almost ritual now. Baby would go as long as she could, before completely breaking down- just like any other Winchester.

Cas had fallen asleep in one of the library chairs. A thin, wool blanket was still draped around his shoulders and a computer lazily played the end credits for some netflix show. Dean’s body ached, but waved Sam away. He could take care of Cas alone. When his brother left, and Dean could hear the distant sound of a shower starting up, he approached the slumbering angel. Cas didn’t sleep often and the unfamiliarity somehow showed. His body was still tense, as if he was worried about doing it wrong. Honestly, Dean didn’t want to disturb the guy, but he knew he should. Castiel wasn’t the only one who’d fallen asleep in the library before, and the chairs were unforgiving in the morning after. If Cas was ever gonna heal from Rowena’s spell, he had to rest properly. That meant a bed.

He’d carried Cas before. His body wasn’t that heavy, and this time Cas wasn’t fighting Dean to put him down. The angel’s head lolled to the side, cheek pressed into Dean’s shoulder. He dropped Cas off on the bed, determined to watch over him that night. Something that felt like irony struck him. He hated when Cas watched him sleep, but here he was doing the same thing. This was different, he told himself. Cas was liable to take off in the middle of the night- Dean wouldn’t let him. He also didn’t do that downright creepy stance, mouth slightly open, hands flexing and unflexing as he just stood there doing nothing but watching. Dean got things done. He’d taken mental note of all the ways Baby suffered during that last hunt, and started writing down all the tools he’d need next morning. Replacement parts would be the hardest to get, but he’d find a way. Winchesters always did. 

Cas woke up with an arm around his waist. A smile pulled at his lips as he recognised the setting- Dean’s room- before realization set in. He was in Dean’s room. This was not where he’d fallen asleep. The arm around him was Dean’s, he could feel the hunter’s soul this close. The familiar feeling of guilt took over. He’d fallen asleep. One of the Winchesters had taken care of him last night. Once again, mere humans were caring for their guardian angel. It was disgraceful, shameful, and pathetic. Cas tried to calm his thoughts- he’d read online that worrying slowed the healing process- but it was useless. As soon as his brain was quiet enough to think clearly, the sound of Dean’s labored breathing filled his ears, the hunter’s lungs somehow working against the battered ribs that caged them. Castiel remembered cracking a few of them, although Dean sounded worse than before he left a few days ago. The Nachzehrer must’ve hurt him. Sam had called the hunt a “milk run.” Cas rolled his eyes, cursing himself. He should’ve tagged along, insisted he go with them, put up more of a fight. Instead, he let them take care of him, pointing out his disgustingly weakened state.

“Mornin’ huggybear,” Dean grumbled into Castiel’s ear. The arm around Cas’ waist pulled him a little closer. For a moment the two just reveled in the feeling, being so close. Outside the bed was cold, but under the covers was just warm enough. Dean’s body heat was pleasantly rolling over Cas, keeping them both warm. “You must’ve been tired last night,” Dean cooed, adjusting his hips into a more comfortable position. “You were out. I mean, stone cold, like a light. Just *out*.” He was leaning on his elbow now, getting a better look. Cas moved too, turning over to look at Dean. Just as he suspected, the hunter looked worse than when he left. Although he’d washed his face and managed to scrub most of the dried blood off, Cas could see the cuts and bruises hugging Dean’s face, already beginning to swell. The red around his exposed skin only made his eyes seem greener by contrast, an electric hue. They were the color of fresh cut grass, vibrant and healthy, natural and beautiful. If only the skin around his left eye wasn’t beginning to bloat, threatening to swell closed. 

“Dean,” Cas sighed, looking over his hunter’s face. The longer he looked, the more he noticed. His hairline hadn’t been as thoroughly cleaned as his face, and bits of dried blood painted a horrifying picture around his ear. Glass had been cleaned out of his hair- Cas knew the signs. His neck was swelling around strange bite marks. Dean’s chapped and cracked lips fell from a small smile to that signature pout. He didn’t want to be healed. Castiel knew why.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked. Hell, Dean’s whole life was getting attacked. It wasn’t even the first time Castiel attacked him. They’d battled, sure, but it was usually Castiel’s fault. Years ago, the first time he’d betrayed the Winchesters, they almost fought. Cas managed to hold himself back, sparing the one man he really cared for. Then came Naomi. He should’ve been strong enough to resist, but she’d tampered with his head, making him kill Dean thousands of times before finally finding the tablet. And then there was the actual moment in the crypt- Cas shuddered when he remembered it. Dean, literally on his knees, begging for mercy, while Cas continued to wail on him with supernatural strength. He looked just as beaten up then. Red, inflamed skin threatening to consume his green eyes as the human pleaded with Cas to just stop. And then, when Cas finally paused, gathering enough strength to thwart Naomi, Dean was trembling. He hid from Cas’ hand, tried to shrink out of the death grip on his shoulder as Castiel moved to heal him. He was scared. Castiel was too. Honestly, he didn’t know if he’d keep enough strength to hold Naomi back, to heal Dean instead of hurting him more. He was so weak then. He was weak now.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean deflected. His eyes were clouded over in thought. Cas shook his head. He hadn’t put up a fight when the Winchesters left a few days ago- he would now. 

“No, you’re not.” Cas instinctively reached his hand out, but Dean stopped it. Those green eyes searched his own, trying to tell him something Cas couldn’t understand. There was so much he didn’t understand. He could understand this, though. Dean didn’t want to be healed now. He wanted to languish in the pain of his most recent beating. Maybe, if he let his face ache long enough, he’d finally learn his lesson and stop trusting Castiel. Maybe next time he’d be ready for when Cas attacked. Maybe next time he’d have a chance. The thought sickened the angel but he knew it was right. Dean was a smart hunter- he’d already been caught off guard twice now. He won’t let it happen again. “Dean. Please, let me heal you. You can’t continue like this. I understand you want me gone, but before I hurt you again but let me at least-”

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened, his grip on Cas’ wrist tightened before letting go completely. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, processing Cas’ words. The angel tried to rephrase.

“I’m not stupid, Dean. I know why you won’t let me heal you.” Dean looked down at the sheets between them. 

“I need this, Cas,” he muttered, not sure what else to say. It was the truth he’d decided long ago, but somehow this was the first time he said it.

“I know you do. You think you have to suffer to learn this lesson, but you don’t. Let me heal you, then I’ll leave.”

“No!” Dean said it before he’d finished processing Cas’ words. He couldn’t let Cas heal him. Taking the pain away would be too lenient. He needed this. “Don’t- You’re always leaving. Stay, please,” his hand reached out, resting on Castiel’s shoulder. It was a little cold, but Cas loved it anyway. He didn’t understand why Dean wanted him to stay- probably some sick way to remind them both of the damage Cas could inflict. Just more punishment.

That wasn’t right. Castiel wasn’t known for his people skills, he’d be the first to admit it, but something was different about Dean. He could read Dean Winchester better than any other person. They understood each other. Perhaps it was the connection forged when his grace touched Dean’s soul, almost ten years ago in Hell. Their “profound bond” was hard to put a label on. A familiar storm raged behind Dean’s eyes, but it wasn’t anger. Cas closed his eyes and focused on the hand resting on his shoulder. He could feel each finger, the muscles underneath the skin still tight from gripping a machete yesterday. One of the bones was fractured. Just another thing Dean refused to let Cas heal. When he opened his eyes, Dean was still there, thoughts flowing by. The look on his face was familiar, but it wasn’t rage he projected.

It was guilt.

Seven years. It’d been seven years since Cas raised Dean from perdition. The human remembered the experience, but not the angel who’d done it. Not a full day later, they met face to “face.” Seven years since Dean stabbed him in the chest, giving Cas his first scar. Fittingly, it was over his heart. Seven years since Cas proudly proclaimed his name and status, naively loyal to the ominous forces of heaven. Things were so different back then. Seven years since Cas realized Dean was a uniquely humble kind of hunter. Nothing had changed.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” Dean’s eyes widened, hearing the exact words from all those years ago. Cas’ voice was lighter now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter whatever gentle air had settled between them. 

“I don’t.” Dean responded, his voice firm. He’d made this decision long ago. Despite all the good he did, it wasn’t enough.

“You do,” Cas urged. He didn’t know what else to do. Dean was the best and worst of humanity all wrapped into one body. He was motivated by hate and rage and love and passion. All that emotion and trauma packed so tightly into one person was volatile. Dean saw it as his curse. His own love for those around him was allconsuming. Cas wanted to lift that burden, but Dean wouldn’t let him. It reminded him of Atlas the Titan, stoically holding up the sky alone. Zeus forbade anyone from helping, but a few sympathetic souls still offered. Atlas dismissed them all, believing his sentence was punishment enough. Dean was different. The Titan was content with his pain, Dean wanted more. 

“No, I don’t.” Dean’s voice was venomous, and louder. He looked at Castiel again, rage back in his eyes. “I attacked you. You hit me back. I deserve this.”

“That was mind control, Dean. Between the Mark of Cain and Rowena’s spell- You know I wouldn’t hit you. Not intentionally.”

“It was for you. But me? Shit Cas, I was in control the whole time. Every hit. I could feel your bones breaking under my fist, but I kept hitting because I was so damn angry and I needed to hurt something. That was all me. This,” he used the arm that had been anchored to Cas’ shoulder to gesture to his bloated face. “I deserve this.” He rolled onto his back, staring at the bedroom ceiling. The cold spot on Cas’ shoulder, deprived of the warmth of Dean’s hand, spread through his whole body. Shivering, Cas also lay on his back, waiting for the icy feeling gripping his spine to subside. Another side effect of Rowena’s spell. At least he didn’t blackout this time. 

“What are we doing here, Cas?” Dean eventually asked. The question hung in the air. Neither man could answer. Under the sheets, Cas entwined his fingers with Dean’s, focusing on the feeling. It was electric, filling him with confidence and relief. He liked being near Dean, but touching him was another story all together. His grace fluttered in his chest, swirling with energy. He hadn’t told the human yet. Now was an alright time to break it.

“Dean, I want to heal you.”

“I said no, Cas. Save your strength. Don’t waste it on me,” he refused. It wasn’t the first time Dean said it, but now that Cas knew why Dean insisted on staying hurt, he wouldn’t leave it alone. 

“It’s not a matter of strength. You’re healing me right now, just by being here.” Dean looked over his shoulder at that, confusion twisting his bruised face. Cas met his stare. “Angels don’t have bodies, Dean. This is just a vessel. We do get hurt, and we do heal. But celestials do it through love.” Dean looked away, pulling his hand out of Castiel’s grasp. Were it not for his very physical reaction, Cas wouldn’t have guessed the hunter was blushing. But his face, a new shade of red, eventually came back around, lips quivering with questions.

“You’re joking,” He insisted, voice higher than usual. Cas shook his head. It's always been this way, and if Dean looked hard enough, he was sure there would be some Men of Letters research to confirm it as fact. “I- but-” Dean looked anywhere other than Cas. 

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” he cooed. The hunter still wouldn’t look over. “Let me heal you. Please?”

“Heal Sam first.” Dean choked the words out. Honestly, even getting those three out was impressive. There were too many thoughts interrupting each other in his brain. Cas nodded, and rolled out of bed. Dean stayed in place, a little longer, still trying and failing to process Cas’ words.

Healing Sam took a while. They both knew it would be long, and Cas was gentle. Healing humans usually hurt, unless the angel was meticulous. Sam, for his part, took it heroically, not complaining once about the time commitment or few moments Cas rushed and accidentally hurt the hunter. To pass the time, he’d found a few books of angel lore. He refused to say why he’d been searching for Seraph anatomy specifically, but Cas knew the Winchesters had probably talked. Just as he suspected, the Men of Letters had done their research. Celestials of all sorts healed through love. The Ancient Greeks theorized there were different kinds of love, and the Men of Letters had been trying to figure out which kinds were the most and least effective. Castiel knew they were wrong. It wasn’t the type of love that determined healing power, it was the strength of it. Perhaps that’s why angels had been so attracted to the Winchesters. They practically bled love, for each other, for the world, for everything. Their presence was comforting, their touch intoxicating, and their love addicting. Cas had gotten a taste seven years ago, up close and personal by accidentally branding Dean’s soul.

“I don’t believe it,” Sam muttered, flipping back through a few pages before finally closing one of the tomes he’d been scanning. Cas looked up from where he’d been concentrating on healing Sam’s leg. Briefly, he looked at the thick book’s title, “Hate And Healing: Angelic Restoration by Cuthbert Sinclaire” before glancing back at Sam for an explanation.

“Dean mentioned something about being healed through love, but I thought he was kidding. It’s true, though.” Cas nodded, going back to work. Sam’s leg was far from ok.

They’d started in the morning, but finished late at night. Dean was somehow still awake. Cas could feel him in the garage, his soul humming peacefully as he dutifully fixed the car. Castiel hadn’t seen how badly she’d been hurt yet, but Sam gave him a basic rundown. Although the angel didn’t understand most of the jargon, he got the gist. It was really messed up. Seeing it now, however, was a different story. Somehow, Sam neglected to tell him about the blood caked on the only window still intact. There was blood on the leather seats, and the car doors, and dashboard, and just about everywhere. Grazing each surface with his fingertips, he could feel whose blood it was. A worrying amount of it was Dean’s. Just as he lifted a hand from the back seat, decorated with dirt, shards of glass, and sweat, Dean walked back in the room. He’d left on a “beer break,” but Cas knew better. He drank liberally around Castiel all the time. Now, Dean wanted to be alone with his thoughts, unable to look the angel in the eye. Awkwardly, the hunter hung in the doorway, an unopened can of alcohol pressed against his bruised forehead. One of his cuts had reopened, the dry air of the bunker unkind wounds. Instinctively, Cas walked forward, reaching out a hand to seal the cut.

Only a few feet away, he remembered again. Dean didn’t want to be healed. It was infuriating. He was infuriating. Neither looked at each other, instead finding some interesting point on the ground to stare at.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean confessed. “For everything.”

“I forgive you. You know I do,” he responded.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do,” Cas insisted. Dean’s eyes snapped up from his shoes and Cas was once again hit by how green they were. He stepped closer, mere inches apart now. His eyes darted to the hunter’s lips, in no better condition from this morning, before meeting his stare. Dean’s hand wrapped around Castiel’s, entwining their fingers. Cas closed the distance, kissing Dean softly. His free hand hovered over Dean’s chest, healing the ribs that’d cracked on the last hunt. Dean pulled back first, not letting go of Cas’ hand.

“Woah,” he gasped, feeling how much easier it was to breathe without the pain of a fractured true rib. Cas leaned forward, pressing Dean against the Bunker wall. 

“Let me heal you,” he begged, breath hot against Dean’s ear. Dean nodded, going in for another kiss.


End file.
